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I met her under the phallus with the bent tip
that shone neon light upon her hair I met her
by the stove that boiled with red sauce and wine
I met her on the windswept quay where dogs
rifled the dustbins of night in rooms
of steaming black coffee on the seamy sides
of distant wharfs under the sign of the dirty duck
in the pouring rain I met her and yes she came
copyright 2011
Patrick
Williamson |
